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Tragic end to 'little brother' relationship

JACKSON, Miss. -- They pulled 20-year-old Darius Brent's shirt over his head, duct-taped it, and shot him twice in the head and once in the torso. "Cowards," says his grandmother, Barbara Jones, sitting in the

Tragic end to 'little brother' relationship

Gary Gusick, Big Brother to young Darius Brent, who was found slain in Jackson, Miss., last month, looks back on the special relationship the mismatched pair shared.

Allison King, right, and her mother, Barbara Jones, are coping with the loss of King's son, Darius Brent, on Aug. 15, 2013 in Jackson, Miss. His decomposed body was found under a house last week after being shot.(Photo: Joe Ellis, The (Jackson, Miss.) Clarion-Ledger)

JACKSON, Miss. -- They pulled 20-year-old Darius Brent's shirt over his head, duct-taped it, and shot him twice in the head and once in the torso.

"Cowards," says his grandmother, Barbara Jones, sitting in the den of her Jackson home. "If somebody has the nerve to murder another human being, shouldn't they also have the nerve to look them in the eyes when they do it?"

She tosses and turns at night, imagining what her grandson's final moments were like. "He was strong willed. But all he had been talking about was his 3-year-old son's birthday party. He was planning the whole thing himself for Markeil at Chuck E. Cheese. I wonder in those last few seconds if he begged for his life, just for his son's sake."

Three weeks after his family discovered he was missing on July 9, Darius' body was discovered beneath a house in Jackson's Deer Park area.

"My baby was so badly decomposed, I couldn't even see him one last time," says Darius mother, 38-year-old Allison King of Byram.

Services were held Saturday at Mount Nebo Baptist Church in Jackson.

At the family's request, one of the speakers was Gary Gusick, who couldn't have looked more out of place. He is white, 69 years old and speaks with a bit of a Northern accent. But all the differences disappeared when Gusick, a resident of Jackson's Belhaven district, looked out at Darius' family and friends and said the same thing he told a reporter earlier in the week: "Darius was my little brother. I loved him. He was so talented, had so much to offer. Darius was special in so many ways. I am heartbroken."

Gusick moved from Chicago to Jackson in 1998 and served six years as creative director for the Ramey Agency. Single at the time, he had an 11-year-old daughter, Vanessa, who is now 26 and living in Boston.

"After Vanessa left home, there was a void," Gusick says. "We did so many things together, had a lot of fun. I was 60 and called Big Brothers Big Sisters of Mississippi and told them I wanted to volunteer.

"When I looked at Darius' profile, I saw that he was 11, same age Vanessa was when we moved here. It said Darius liked playing basketball and checkers, and so did I. Said he liked football and he was interested in art. I just felt like it was a great match."

"Darius' father was in and out of prison most of Darius' life," King says. "In fact, he's in prison now. Darius knew him, but they never had a great relationship. I felt like the Big Brothers program would give him a male figure to spend time with, and perhaps one day look up to."

The chemistry between the 60-year-old white dude and the 11-year-old black kid wasn't great at first.

But slowly things improved. "One of the first things I did with him was go buy a basketball," Gusick says. "I wrote my name on it, and he wrote his name. I said, 'This is mine and yours. We own something together.' "

They shot baskets, raced go-karts, went for ice cream, played laser tag, watched the Baltimore Ravens beat the New York Giants in Super Bowl XXXV.

And they laughed a lot.

Darius was mesmerized by the rows and rows of books at Gusick's home. "So I got him a library card and showed him how the library works," he says.

One day Darius mentioned he liked drawing. Gusick asked him to bring some of his work for him to see.

"I'm not an artist," Gusick says, "but when I saw it, I thought it was really good."

Gusick took Darius to visit Jack Garner, president of The Ramey Agency at the time and a well-respected artist.

"I remember Jack asked Darius, 'Were you looking at something when you drew these?' and Darius said 'No, I just drew what was inside my head.' Jack looked at me and said, 'This kid has a lot of talent.'

"Darius was very impressed that Jack Garner was working on a mosaic thing at the time. He said, 'Mr. Garner is really good.' I said, 'Yes, but so are you. Maybe you could make a living out of this one day, have your art work in galleries or maybe even teach art.' "

Gusick and his new wife, Lee Ann Mayo, enrolled Darius in a Mississippi Art Commission's summer youth art program. They found an art teacher at Belhaven University to give Darius private lessons. "The teacher told me that Darius' art vocabulary was four years ahead of his age. He was about 12 then, probably," Gusick says.

Gusick gave him lessons on social etiquette. "I wanted him to know how to introduce himself — 'Hello, my name is Darius Brent.' I made him practice that, shaking someone's hand, looking them in the eyes. He thought it was a silly thing to do, but he was good-natured about it. And he learned."

But it wasn't long before Darius stopped showing up for his outings with Gusick. "I talked with the lady at Big Brothers and she said, 'It's not unusual. It's simply a sign that this relationship has sort of played itself out.' He was turning 13, and he was becoming more interested in girls and his peers than hanging around with an old guy.

"That was late 2005, and I never saw Darius again, though he did call about six months later when he was accepted into the Power APAC program. 'They like me!' he said. I told him, 'Well, of course, they do. Everybody likes you. You're special.'"

Lee Ann Mayo found Darius' profile on Facebook a couple of years ago.

"She told me he had become a rapper," Gusick says, "and I remembered him mentioning music one day. I said, 'But you're really good at art.' He said, 'Yeah, but I'm really good at music, too.' "

Darius' mom didn't give it much thought when he first mentioned rapping. "Then I went to hear him, and he was good," she says.

But in her mind, that was the beginning of the end.

"When he was 18, he started hanging around with guys over in the Deer Park area that I knew weren't the right crowd for him to be in," she says, dazed with grief. "But Darius had big dreams. He wanted to be a star. He wanted to make records and design his own clothing line. And he thought this group of people could help him get a record deal.

"What it did was get him killed."

Darius was diagnosed as bi-polar when he was a child. Medication improved the condition, but his mood swings would still flare up.

"He could say the meanest things one minute, and then five minutes later he would've forgotten about it and wondered why you were upset with him," Jones says. "I just wonder if maybe he said something to the wrong person, and they didn't really know Darius that well ... I don't know. A lot of things go through your mind when you're trying to figure out what would make somebody take your grandson's life."

Allison King last saw her son, who worked for a lawn care service, a couple of days before he disappeared.

"It was at our cousin's birthday party," she says. "The day was perfect — too perfect. Darius was in a great mood. His youngest sister, Aaniyah, is 7 and has asthma, and she had gotten wet because they had a water slide. Darius came over to me and said, 'Mama, don't fuss at her. She's just a kid having fun.' "

King manages a laugh.

"The last thing he ever said to me was when he was holding Markeil. He looked at me and said, 'This boy is peeing on me. Here, you take him.' And he busted out laughing. He loved his son so much."

Jones, whom he lived with, was the last family member to speak with Darius.

"I saw him at McDonald's up on Terry Road (July 8)," she says. "I gave him $20. He kissed me on the cheek and said, 'Thank you, Grandma.' He was happy — happier than usual. Then that night, about 1:15 (a.m.), he called and said he was on his way home. ... Darius was always calling his family. He'd call when I was driving and say, 'You be careful out there, Grandma.'

"So when he didn't show up that night, didn't call the next day to say where he was, and we couldn't get him on his phone, I knew something was wrong. I just didn't want to believe it could be this bad."

When Gusick learned Darius' body had been found, he phoned King. He told her how much he loved Darius.

"I've thought about this a lot since Darius died," Gusick says. "You know how many black kids I know? One. And it's only because we were put together through Big Brothers.

"As a society, for the most part, we just don't engage with people cross-culturally unless it's through random circumstances. I wish I could do more. ... But I am so much richer for having known him."